Riddle
by Khgirl08
Summary: After the final battle, Ginny Weasley wants nothing more than to be with Harry. But something else is nagging at her thoughts...something that's been nagging at her since her first year. Will she be able to overcome Tom Riddle's lingering influence? Or is she doomed to have him in her head forever?


Ginny watched a strange look cross Ron and Hermione's faces as she leaned against her mother. Both stood at the same time as the look faded and walked briskly to the entrance of the Great Hall, and that was when Ginny knew Harry was with them. She hadn't spoken to him since he shooed her from the Room of Requirement, hadn't stopped thinking about him since a funny feeling went through her while searching the grounds, hadn't stopped wanting to hold him since she saw him in Hagrid's arms. She yearned to follow the three of them, to latch onto Harry's arm and never let it go again, but she knew the time wasn't right. He wasn't ready for her, and she wasn't ready for him. Not yet.

She stood up and left her mother's side. None of her family seemed to notice. Bill and Fleur were wrapped so tightly together that it was difficult to tell whose robes were whose; Percy and Charlie were talking quietly, their eyes full of tears; her Mum and Dad were holding hands and staring off into the distance, neither truly seeing anything; Ginny had no idea where George had got off to, but she hadn't seen him since Harry had won the battle. Fred, of course, was lying on the teacher's platform between Tonks and Terry Boot, but her view of him was blocked by Michael Corner, Cho Chang, and Anthony Goldstein as they mourned their friend.

Ginny had no desire to look upon Fred's last smile again, nor see Remus and Tonks together in death nor stare at the tiny body of her friend Colin. She had little desire to do much of anything not involving Harry, in fact, but a driving need was pulling her towards the unguarded trophy room. She somehow knew that if she didn't go in at that moment, she would never have the chance.

She stared at the floor as she entered the room and shut the door, her eyes refusing to look at the body her mind had forced her to visit. The stones looked exactly the same as they had when she had been forced to clean all of the awards by hand during her third year. Finally, she forced her gaze upward and took in the sight that should have terrified her, should have sent her back to her mother's arms screaming in horror.

The body of Lord Voldemort stared back at her through lifeless, scarlet pupils.

Although she knew she should run, she couldn't bring herself to be frightened. Perhaps she was too drained from the battle, or maybe she was too used to seeing dead bodies as nothing but objects (a prospect which did frighten some small, quiet corner of her mind), but she just watched those empty eyes watch her. Those eyes, which had once held so much malice, were almost marble-like in appearance now.

Ginny hadn't been prepared for the sight of Lord Voldemort when he had escorted Harry's "body" to the school. She had heard the rumors about his appearance -who hadn't?-, and she had listened to Harry's horrifying accounts of his rebirth and subsequent sightings, but in her mind Lord Voldemort would always be the handsome teenager who had taken her into his mind, shown her some of his life, made her fall in love with him. Yes, Ginny Weasley had been in love with Tom Riddle, as much as any eleven-year-old could be.

She finally tore her gaze from those eyes and took in the rest of his appearance. Tom's incredibly high cheekbones had somehow risen in Voldemort's face, and his lips were no longer full and lush. He had always been pale, but he was now without color. His strong, beautiful fingers, which had stroked her face as she began to fade away, were now thin and brittle-looking. It had bemused her how so many adults did not know Voldemort's former identity, but she understood now. There was nothing left of the boy who had given Ginny her very first kiss.

"Tom," she said quietly. "I know you're not there anymore. I just wanted to…" To what? Did she want to tell him how much she loathed him?

_Pathetic,_ a voice whispered in her mind. _After all this time, you still desire a boy beyond your means. You could have had me for eternity, you know. If you had allowed yourself to fade away, you would have been in my beating heart forever. You could have loved me forever, without feeling guilty._

"Shut up," she whispered. "I don't love you.

_This is all your fault, Ginevra. How many people died this night because you were too noble and proud to give in to me all those years ago? Your brother, your friends…their blood is on your hands, all because you fell in love with me._

"Shut up!" Ginny turned to flee, but was met with the sight of a startled Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Weasley? What in Merlin's name-?"

She shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. "It's my fault, isn't it?"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. She looked much older than she had ever seemed to Ginny. "Whatever are you talking about? Is _what_ your fault?"

"He was able to be alive for this long because of what I did in my first year. If it wasn't for me…if I had been stronger…maybe he would have never come back, and then Fred-" she choked on a sob and collapsed against a glass case. "Fred and Tonks and Colin and Professor Lupin, they'd all still be alive! Or maybe, if I had given him life then, he could have been killed earlier, and-"

"Oh, Miss Weasley, that isn't true." Professor McGonagall was at Ginny's side in an instant. "Whatever part of Voldemort hurt you that year was destroyed along with that diary, I assure you. It had no impact on this creature," she said curtly, waving her arm towards the body.

"How can you be sure?" Ginny whispered.

McGonagall sighed sadly and smoothed Ginny's hair like she was a child. "You're exhausted, and so is everyone else. You should get yourself up to Gryffindor Tower and get some sleep. Everything will look better in the morning, you'll see."

Ginny highly doubted her Head of House's words, but the stern gaze that she felt on her convinced her to leave the Trophy Room. She looked back at the body of Voldemort one last time, and it seemed to her that the empty eyes now twinkled with sadistic mirth. With a small gasp, she left McGonagall and went back into the Great Hall.

Two of the House tables had disappeared while Ginny was with the body, replaced by rows of cots covered by fluffy yellow blankets. Her parents and siblings were easily identifiable thanks to their red hair as they claimed a section for themselves, but she knew she couldn't sleep now. Instead, she looked around for someone to talk to.

Her eyes fell on Neville and Luna almost immediately. They weren't speaking, but they were sitting closer than Ginny had ever seen them. She nearly joined them, but that little voice in her head held her back.

_They don't really care about you. To them, you're nothing but a pretty face they could use to attract fighters. Those two don't care about your petty little problems, and why should they? You don't matter._ Ginny could almost see Tom's lips curling into a smile as he spoke in her mind.

As much as she wanted to disagree with her mind's words-his words?-she could not, and so she chose to avoid the tables and beds entirely and leave the Great Hall alone. The Entrance Hall's floor was largely concealed by blood, debris, and a large quantity of emeralds from the Slytherin hourglass; Ginny got a sort of pleasure from seeing the unfairly-given points of that house dispersed in such a manner.

The stairs were occupied by a large group of Hufflepuffs, and Ginny didn't want to interrupt what looked like a mourning session. Instead, she waved to Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan, both of whom smiled sadly at her, and exited through the broken doors.

It was brilliantly sunny outside, and the air made a valiant attempt to warm her. The coldness in the pit of her stomach, however, was not something that could removed so easily. In another time, she would have itched to climb on her broom and take to the skies, but those days seemed centuries away from her now. How could she possibly be happy to fly when so many were dead, when they were only dead because of a mistake she had made as a hapless child?

Only when she heard soft voices did Ginny realize she had made her way toward the tree under which she and Harry had spent hours and hours once upon a time. Two figures were walking further away from her hand-in-hand; the bushiness of Hermione's hair hadn't decreased in the slightest since Bill and Fleur's wedding, and Ron had apparently grown even more. It was funny how she only noticed this about them now. In the light of imminent death, details like these hadn't seemed important.

Her eyes drifted back to the tree, and she realized that someone was sitting alone in its shade. Harry. Ginny's heart soared and the chill of her blood disappeared, and she found herself running to him once again, as though he had just defeated Voldemort for a third time. He barely had time to look up before she was tackling him, sobbing uncontrollably.

He didn't say a word at first, just pulled her tightly against him and pressed his face into her hair as she cried. Once her tears finally slowed, after what she thought could have been seconds or possibly years, he pulled back slightly to stare down at her. "Ginny."

She tried to smile at him the way he was smiling at her, but that cold knot reformed in her stomach at the sight of his loving expression. _No, no, this just won't do,_ said Tom._ You don't actually think he loves you? That's utterly laughable, Ginevra. You're unlovable, especially by Harry Potter of all people. He knows what you did, what you are. He found the diary, saw to what lengths you would go to get it back, found you in the Chamber._

"Ginny, are you alright?" Harry's smile faded as Ginny struggled not to scream at the voice in her head. "You look ill."

She meant to reassure him that she was only tired, wanted to say that she should go lay down so she could get away from him, but her tongue betrayed her. "It's my fault, isn't it?"

"Your fault? What? That you're sick?" He looked so confused. He would hate her once she explained, or rather he would let the hatred he felt for her shine through.

"That this whole battle took place. Something happened because of me during my first year, didn't it? With the diary and everything? I'm the reason he was able to keep living at all, aren't I?" Ginny wiped at her eyes as fresh tears formed in them. "And he'll be able to come back again, too, won't he?"

Harry stared at her for a long moment, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch the inevitable revulsion form in them. Instead, lips pressed against her forehead in a gentle kiss. "No, Ginny, it isn't your fault."

_He's lying_, said the voice. It sounded funny somehow, more distant than it had been for nearly a year. _You are to blame for all of this!_

Harry scooted back to lean against the tree and pulled Ginny along, so they sat facing one another. "Do you remember back when your dad was attacked, how I thought I was being possessed by Voldemort and you managed to convince me that I was wrong?" He asked the question slowly, as if he was nervous about the territory he was entering with her.

"Of course I do," she said. "But what does that-"

"It has everything to do with it," he interrupted quietly. He closed his eyes and pressed two fingers to his scar before continuing. "You were right, in a sense, but not entirely. We were both possessed by a piece of Voldemort, just in very different ways.

"He made these things, these objects, called Horcruxes. Basically, when a person's soul is split by murder, that person can use some really Dark magic to put a section of their soul into an object, sort of like a safeguard. As long as that piece of soul is safely within its new home, that person can't die. Most people who've made them only did it once; Voldemort meant to do it six times, so his soul would be in seven pieces. He made his first Horcrux during his sixth year here at Hogwarts."

Ginny had a flash of understanding. "The diary."

"Exactly."

"So he did make the others, then? He was able to make more Horcruxes?" Ginny whistled softly when Harry nodded slowly. "And you somehow ran across one of them that night, when you saw Dad get attacked by that snake?"

"Nagini was one of the Horcruxes." Harry swallowed deeply. "There was the diary, a locket and a ring that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, a cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff-"

"That diadem thing of Ravenclaw's?" Harry nodded again. "And then the piece of his soul that possessed Quirrell during your first year. But that doesn't explain how you were possessed by one of them."

Harry half-smiled, but he looked more exhausted then than Ginny had ever seen him. "Those are just the Horcruxes he meant to make. You see, there was another one, an accidental one that he made before he decided to make Nagini into his last Horcrux. On the night that he came to kill me, when he killed my parents, he shattered his soul without realizing it. It was too fragile because he had fractured it so much in the past, see, and when his Killing Curse rebounded on him, a piece of it broke off and latched itself onto the only living thing around."

Ginny gasped in horror. "You mean…you mean _you_ became a Horcrux?!"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "That's why I was able to see through Nagini's eyes when she attacked your dad, and why Voldemort was able to trick me into going to save Sirius. He never knew that I was a Horcrux, but as long as I was alive, he couldn't die. When I found that out tonight, I knew I had to let him kill me so that he could eventually die. Lucky for me that all he managed to kill was the bit of his own self."

Ginny took his hand and turned its palm up, so that she could see the new calluses that had formed on it throughout the past year. There were too many of them. "Harry, that's incredible. But that just makes me feel worse about the whole thing, because you had to destroy two Horcruxes and I spent a whole year making one of them super powered."

_You realize that you made him more powerful, don't you?_ Tom's voice asked snidely. _You gave power to Voldemort's Horcrux, and that made him stronger. Your precious boyfriend is probably figuring that out right now._

"Don't be stupid," he murmured. She met his eyes in shock; they weren't angry, but brimming with concern. "All traces of that bit of soul disappeared when I stabbed the diary with that basilisk fang, which sent all of the energy it had amassed back to its owner, namely you. That sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle is gone. He's been gone for five years now."

"Sometimes I still hear him talking in my head," she said before she could stop herself. Harry tried to say something, but she kept talking over him, the words pouring from her like a river that couldn't be dammed. "He whispers things to me, like he did when I was a first year, tells me that it's my fault and why I'm unlovable and that I should have died when I was eleven and Harry, he's right, about all of it, and sometimes I can't sleep because he keeps me up and tries to convince me that he still loves me or that I'm nothing but a failure-"

Harry raised his hands in a silencing gesture, effectively stopping her rambling explanation. His green eyes were darker than usual, his mouth set in a hard line. "Do you actually believe that?"

_He doesn't even believe you_, Tom laughed. _The one time you're completely honest with him, and he doesn't believe that I'm even in here talking to you. This is why you would have been better off with me._

"B-believe it? I live it. But you don't believe me, do you? I do hear him, seriously, I'm not joking-"

"No, I believe you about _that_," he said grimly. Ginny stared at him in amazement as he took her hands in his. "I've seen what Voldemort can do to a grown wizard, the ideas and feelings he can plant in someone decades older and wiser than you were at eleven."

"That's not the…"

"Not the same?" Harry guessed. "It is the same, though. Professor Slughorn still feels guilty about liking a Tom Riddle who was the same age as the one that possessed you, Ginny. Ron and Hermione and I, we all felt the effects of the locket that housed some of his soul. It was able to get to Ron after he hadn't worn it for two months or more, it knew exactly what to say and show him to make him doubt himself. The diary worked at you for nearly a year, and you were much more impressionable then than Ron is now." He paused. "Did you say you loved him?"

She flushed and tried to pull her hands away, but he tightened his grip. "I thought I did, yes," she mumbled. "He told me that he loved me, and he kissed me and held me, and those sorts of thing create a lot of devotion in an eleven-year-old girl. But that feeling faded when he tried to kill me," she said curtly. "I realized how stupid I was and vowed not to think of him again. But he was always there, especially when I was sad or upset. When I'm happy, he isn't around as often, but as soon as things turn sour he comes along to point out that it's all my fault. And he's right."

"No, he isn't. Ginevra Weasley, nothing that he did to you or to anyone else has been your fault. You can't let him get to you like this." Harry reached up to cup her face. "Tom Riddle is gone. He's been gone for years and years, and he can't do anything in the here and now. But you can. You can choose to throw him out, like I did, and you can move on with your life. You can learn what it's like when someone really loves you, because I do love you, Ginny, so much, and I want to spend forever with you and that means that there's no room for Voldemort's memory with you anymore."

_Don't listen to him_, the voice spat. It sounded less like Tom Riddle now than it ever had, like it was being spoken through water. Through very deep, green water, Ginny decided as she stared into Harry's eyes. _He'll turn his back on you eventually, once he realizes how pathetic you are, and then you'll be-_

Shut up, she thought, and the voice disappeared, and it felt as though a heavy blanket had been lifted from her mind. She felt sixteen again, and everything looked a little brighter. Her gaze left Harry's eyes and raked down his face, stopping at his lips. They quirked into a smile.

As Harry kissed her, Ginny had no idea how she had ever found Tom Riddle handsome.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys, it's me again. I'm still hauling away on the next "Ghosts of Ourselves" chapter, but in the meantime...have some followup to the last book that's actually canon compliant! :D It also deals with one of my major pet peeves of the HP-verse, the idea that Ginny somehow managed to just get over everything that happened to her as an eleven-year-old. The only time her side of the story is even mentioned after the second book is when she berates Harry for forgetting that she was ever possessed by Voldemort. It was too traumatic to have simply not affected her, so I decided that it must have been one of those things that Harry, who has quite enough angst to be getting on with without worrying about Ginny's past too, simply didn't observe for us readers. And that's how this story was born. Whether the voice Ginny thinks is Riddle really _is_ him or is just her low self-esteem and issues with her past presenting themselves as such is entirely up to you, my friends.

Originally written for the 100 Themes Challenge over at DA's #WeasleyFanClub.


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